Hearts of Steel

Chapter One

Who in the hell is that? Quade Owen asked as his assistant pointed to a woman walking toward his office from the plant’s main entrance. His eyes were blazing like the flame in a blast furnace. He couldn’t believe that anyone in her right mind would enter a steel mill dressed like that.

A hush came over the group of men in Quade’s office as all eyes focused on the woman wearing a short skirt and high heels. Most women were frightened of steel mills. Even with affirmative action, he had a difficult time recruiting any to work in his plant. If this woman was looking for a job she was out of luck. A steel mill was no place for lunatics.

Jeez, I thought bodies like that only existed in the movies, a supervisor mused as he and other members of plant management huddled in the cramped office reviewing data at the start of the work day. Soundproof glass allowed for quiet amidst the loud, monstrous machines in Peterson Steel’s main plant.

She won’t have a body for long dressed like that around here, Quade said, enraged. Who could be so stupid? This is a steel mill, not a party.

Don’t you know who she is? his assistant asked, snickering.

Am I supposed to?

She’s Jessica Peterson.

Old Ironside’s daughter? Quade choked on his words.

One and the same.

I’ll be damned. Quade sized up Jessica Peterson as she approached his office. She sure didn’t look like I.M. Peterson, late patriarch of Peterson Steel. She was as tall as her father was short and her features were delicate while her father’s visage had resembled a hound dog. Even her red suit was flashy, unlike her father who always preferred conservative gray.

Quade was a bit perplexed. He hadn’t seen the boss’s daughter since he and she were children. Memories of frolicking at company picnics with a skinny, flat-chested, short-haired tomboy came to mind. Jesse, as he had called her then, was a smart-mouthed kid with daring equal to and beyond that of the boys she hung around with. She could outrun, out-climb and out-tackle the best of them.

Looking at her now, Quade couldn’t believe that she was one and the same. He hadn’t seen her since she was sent away to prep school and was surprised that she would make such a startling appearance so soon after her father’s death. Apparently, from the look of her attire, her father had taught her little about the steel industry.

Quade watched her open the office door. Jessica Peterson sashayed inside. Her head was held high and she stood facing him and his crew. He had trouble reconciling the stylish woman entering his office with I.M. Peterson, the icy bastard who made their lives hell for so many years.

Lady, this is a steel mill and we’re conducting a meeting, he said. If you wish to speak to me, may I suggest you arrange an appointment with my assistant. Her father had tried to intimidate him for so many years it seemed like just revenge.

I’m not ‘lady.’ I’m Jessica Peterson and I now own this plant and everything in it, she announced, squaring her shoulders, poised like a general.

Quade wanted to blurt out, And everyone? but held his tongue. He watched her shifting uncomfortably and was glad that she seemed to realize how out of place she was in such a dangerous environment.

You may own this plant but you’re not dressed properly to set foot in it. Where’s your hardhat and goggles? Where’s your spark-proof jacket? Steel-toed boots are required and jewelry is against policy, he said, inspecting her. He surveyed her from her red pumps and shapely legs up to her teased auburn hair.

You can’t tell me what to wear, she protested.

I will when your life depends on it. Every person who steps in this plant is my responsibility and I take personal safety seriously.

Who are you to order me around?

I run this plant. I’m general manager, he announced, proud of the authority he held.

Peterson’s main plant was like his corporation. Every aspect of its operation from finances, product development, marketing, and safety was his responsibility. Quade prided himself in his duties and role as a vice president. Yet, he could tell by peering into Jessica Peterson’s dark eyes that she hadn’t a clue as to his job.

Well, since you are now my employee, may I ask you to show me a little more respect? she requested. We also have a serious matter to discuss...alone.

My pleasure, he answered with a wicked grin, motioning the other men to leave his office. One of the men winked at him on the way out.

Do you have a name? Jessica Peterson asked as soon as the door closed.

Quade. Quade Owen, he said, stroking his chin while pondering her. Her expression was more serious than her wardrobe and he grew concerned.

Mr. Owen, I’ll be brief and to the point. As plant general manager it is your duty to inform the employees that this plant is closing, effective in three months.

She might as well have thrown a rod of steel at him. Quade couldn’t believe that Jessica Peterson would turn out to be as cold and heartless as her father.

Closing? Three months? He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was preposterous.

You’re handing out the pink slips, she said firmly.

I don’t know where you’ve been, lady. I don’t know your business background. I don’t know your motives. What I do know, though, is that you lack common sense, he said. He waved a computer printout, the one he had been discussing with his staff. Look at these figures. Since your father’s death, this plant has increased production and output. Expenses have decreased. Employee morale is at an all-time high. This plant is getting back up to international standards. Output is approaching the Japanese average of five man-hours a ton, and Japanese steel plants are the most advanced in the world. The profit statements will knock the socks off the company’s board of directors. Now, you’re telling me that you want to close the most successful steel plant in the country? Lady, you just don’t know the hot metal business.

Mr. Owen, it’s not your place to tell me what I do or do not know. And, I’d appreciate it if you stop addressing me as ‘lady.’ I’m Ms. Peterson to you. Furthermore, I don’t care what your computer says. This plant is closing. If you want to retain your position and seniority when this plant relocates to Mexico, I warn you to hold your tongue.

Mexico? Peterson Steel’s main plant is moving to Mexico? he asked. This was outrageous.

That’s correct.

Oh, I get it, he said, his voice raising an octave. Cheap labor, low wages, long hours, no unions, no government regulation. More money for the Petersons. What about the sixteen hundred loyal employees who toil in this plant? What about their lives, their families? What about the community? How could Peterson Steel turn its back on the people who have shown loyalty and devotion through the years? These are the people who have kept Peterson Steel alive and successful.

I’m just following my father’s plans. They are not my concern.

Who the hell’s concern are they? he yelled at her, his eyes flaring with a fiery life of their own.

Yours, Mr. Owen, she said, turning on her heels, to face the door. She peered back at him, Understand, I’m just the messenger. I’m carrying out my father’s final wishes. He wanted the plant relocated. It’s being relocated.

For a moment, Quade thought she actually looked scared and vulnerable, her lips trembling as she spoke. Yet, her words were caustic.

When we speak next, I expect to hear of your plan for the disbursement of the pink slips, she said before rushing out of the office.

As the door slammed, Quade Owen muttered under his breath, Heartless bitch.

Chapter Two

Jessica hated the acrid scent of molten steel. What had been perfume to her father was nauseating to her. Some steel heiress she was. Inheriting Peterson Steel was not her desire; neither was dismantling the plant and relocating it to Mexico. I.M. Peterson’s lengthy will, though, spelled out her obligations. She considered it revenge from a man who had made it known for years that he would have preferred a son to a daughter. He was also condemning her for rejecting an interest in the family business for the sake of art.

The air inside of the main plant reeked of the scent of the melt shop. As she walked across the concrete floor, the noise was almost deafening. Being in a steel mill frightened her, though she hated to admit it. Her father had always stated that steel needed to be respected, not feared. She begged to differ.

She drew the ugly green spark-proof jacket across her chest. It was one concession she felt prudent to make since her meeting the previous week with the plant manager. He was right about the necessity for safety gear, even though his attitude irked her. She pulled at the jacket, yet it barely covered her chest. Great protection it would provide.

Employees leered at her as she passed. Having men stare always made her uncomfortable. Ever since she had reached maturity, it had become a way of life. One Peterson curse was inheriting her grandmother’s hourglass figure and her grandfather’s height.

Before opening the door to Quade Owen’s office, she took a deep breath. Their last meeting had been less than cordial. She entered his office, acting poised, confident, and self-assured. It was something she had learned by being a performer. She removed the ugly jacket, folding it over her arm and smoothed the wrinkles from her navy Armani pants suit.

Quade was perched on the edge of his metal desk, a computer printout stacked on his lap. He seemed so engrossed in the contents that he didn’t look up when she entered. His long, lean legs were encased in tight denim jeans. Crossed at the ankle, they hiked up to reveal heavy steel-toed safety boots. The sleeves of his chambray shirt were rolled up on muscular forearms. He was built as solid as the steel his plant produced.

Good morning, Jessica greeted in a serious tone as she removed the hardhat and fluffed up her matted hair.

Is it? Quade answered, furrowing his brow and glancing up at her with piercing emerald eyes.

Only cats had green eyes. His were disarming.

It could be if you have your plan formulated for the elimination of this plant, Jessica said. She was like an executioner. Jessica, operator of the guillotine, holder of the noose, the villain pulling the trigger.

If looks could kill, his gaze would be lethal.

Yes ma’am, details of the funeral arrangements are all set, he replied in a blatantly sarcastic tone.

He set the computer forms down on his desk, uncrossed his legs, and stood to face her. Confronted by his towering height and close stance, she stepped back.

I look forward to hearing the details. She looked up at him. His panther-like eyes bored a hole right through her. It didn’t help that they were set in a chiseled face with a solid square jaw, a cleft in his chin, and cheekbones a model would die for.

He also looked familiar and not knowing why was discomforting.

Ma’am, I think it best that the downsizing take place in stages to lessen the impact. Let me get a copy of my report.

Report? She shrugged her shoulders as he turned toward his desk and retrieved a spiral-bound volume from a desk drawer. Turning to face her, he handed her the report.

I hope this suits you. It might even prove educational, he said with a smile that made piano keys seem dull in comparison.

I’ll let you know, she said, accepting the volume. He was certainly efficient.

The report is quite specific. Included is an impact study on the effect the plant’s closing will have on the surrounding community. There are also some recommendations. For instance, those employees one year or less from retirement should receive pensions. Peterson Steel owes these men. It’s only fair.

Mr. Owen, Peterson Steel ends its obligations in three months. Nothing is fair in life.

All’s fair in love and war. He sighed.

Not in business. She stood firm, the words burning in her throat. Her grandfather had founded Peterson Steel on loyalty and job security. Her father, in death, was forcing her to dismantle it.

Other than being your hatchet man, Ms. Peterson, where do I stand at Peterson Steel? he asked. He shifted his stance, placing broad hands on his narrow hips.

Jessica placed her hands on her hips and stood tall.

Mr. Owen, you will be offered the opportunity to relocate to Mexico to manage the new Peterson Steel plant. Whether you wish to do so is a decision you will have to make.

Nothing new about that, he muttered. And if it’s not my desire to relocate?

Well, I guess you’ll just have to find alternative employment.

But would I receive a generous severance package for my many years of service?

I’m sure that you will be compensated, she stuttered. There was so much her father didn’t teach her about Peterson Steel. She just hoped that he didn’t notice her lack of knowledge.

He sighed, folding his arms across his solid chest. Ms. Peterson, I don’t wish to be gruff but who’s making these decisions? The board? Your late father?

As mentioned before, my father’s plans were in his will. I’m in charge of carrying out his wishes and in control.

In charge, maybe. In control, I’m not so sure, he muttered.

She shifted on her feet, glancing down at the bound volume in her hands. Thank you for the report. As soon as I review it, I’ll have comments and recommendations. She turned to leave and glanced back before exiting his office.